I recently wrote a blog about how I had never decorated my home because I had been afraid that I would have a man I wanted to be with came over, he would think my decor was so eccentric or eclectic that he'd run screaming from the place and thus I would be alone forever. Here's another thing that made me change my mind about that...
I recently spent a good deal of time in the home of a man whose ex-wife spent the last years of their marriage covering every available wall of their house with the most hideous atrocities against pleasant home design I have ever seen. She even went so far as to paint their bedroom (a place that should have been filled with passion, romance or at the very least relaxation) a color best described as Rancid Baby Caca. If that wasn't a passive hint that there was trouble in paradise, I don't know what would have been.
By doing things like insisting that he never wear red (pouting angrily when he did, insisting he had done so as a deliberate affront to her), driving away any friend that empowered him or disagreed with her, spoon feeding him his life and domineering the rest, she had basically decorated the man much the same way as she had their home. I don't know what bothers me more; that she was self-absorbed and grotesque enough to insist up on that being the case, or that he had let her do it. Whatever the case, both he and the house were tailored specifically to her eerily selfish taste, both were as far from seeming like a cohesive whole as one could imagine, both were teeming with potential and equally as completely unable to attempt change without someone else coming in to do the hard work. I can't even describe how frustrating that was to me.
Still, if I had gotten married when I wanted to, which was right out of high school, or even say... ten years ago, I would have innitially suffered the same fate. Maybe not entirely, but I would have stuck myself in a situation where my significant other may have gotten quite used to my bending to their every whim, tailoring myself to them like a living suit of support and love and service. I was well on my way with the man I was supposed to have been married to by now. Without my determination to grow and get better and change, I might well be splotched with emotional paint effects that made no sense, and caused people to gasp and recoil at the lost potential. I wouldn't relive a lot of what got me to this place, but I had to experience it all to get where I am and there is a depth of value to that I cannot fathom.
So don't doubt that The Universe sends us messages all the time. As with the three ghosts in Dickens's A Christmas Carol, I have been shown visions of my past, my present and my would be future. I too have woken from my slumber shouting, "There's still time! I can make it right!" One thing is for certain... anyone who comes at me with their can of Rancid Baby Caca paint, is in for a big suprise.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Saturday, January 5, 2008
On Red and Regret (a concordance with “Danger Amy”)
Having left my apartment of nearly seven-ish years, I look back and think about how much fun I could have had decorating the place and didn’t start until about a year ago. Now I find myself in a place where I am expected to have to vacate in about two years and wondering if I should go through the trouble of decking my walls with luscious ruby red paint only to have to change it back in such a short time. The answer is resoundingly YES! Here’s why.
Once upon a time I was a blank canvas. I was gessoed up and ready for bright splashes of vibrant colors and sweeping textures of all kinds. Instead of deciding what I wanted on that canvas, I allowed other would-be artists to dictate the artwork known as Gina (Gina, being a name that I not only hated on myself but never felt connected to, and therefore allowed a dear friend to rename me when I was 23 and had undergone the first wave of positive change in my life… Sunny will be legal this year).
As the years went on, the people around me kept editing my canvas. Some contributors insisted that what they saw never changed no matter how many edits had been made. Some continued to add and subtract elements they didn’t like in hopes of forming the ideal masterpiece. Others would stand back, in awe, and watch the constantly evolving work; sometimes feeling fearful of what it was becoming and occasionally envying the fact that it wasn’t tied to staying forever the same. For a while, I didn’t mind it so much because I didn’t believe I really knew who I was anyway. It was so much easier to let others create me because it was their acceptance, their approval I desired most and I believed that if I let them mold me into what they wanted I would have what I desired. I was wrong. I was very, very wrong.
The same thing applied to my home (an extension of myself). I was afraid to pick out furniture, paint the walls, decorate in any strong fashion because I didn’t want to alienate a man who might want to have a relationship with me. Having grown up with people who believed largely as I did, or had suggested that I believe as they do out of some misguided idea of helping me find a mate, it had never occurred to me to really sit down and question that perception. Even when my ex-intended moved in with me, I was ready to let him lay a heavy hand on the decisions of how our home would look (which was asinine considering the most decorative item he owned was a figurine of Marilyn Monroe that he salvaged from a man's house who had committed suicide). All the while, somewhere underneath, I was thinking things like, “I want an Enchanted Tiki Room dining area!” or “I have always wanted a brothel / bordello bedroom” knowing full well that he would never agree to it. After I asked him to leave, I lost all interest in romance or decorating for a couple of tumultuous, busy, gut twisting years. Then a series of events took place that changed everything. And I mean… EVERYTHING.
During the gut twisting years, I met a man who once worked in special effects for film who had decorated his home in a way much like a Disney Imagineer would have. So much so, that many of the pieces were ones he had recreated in his garage workshop and he shared this home with his love (at the time). When I was getting a particularly healthy refund from the IRS, he took me to where he had gotten a good deal on his furniture (which was unique and yet still comfortable and homely). After sifting through no less than fifteen fabric books, I came upon a fabric that had a Moroccan look. My idea had been that I wanted a “Midnight at the Oasis” living room and it fit what was in my head perfectly. The main color is a deep, rich, dark red. When the furniture arrived, I remember my heart racing like crazy. I was so excited I couldn't sleep for days. I'd had no idea how good making that decision would feel.
At the same time, my then boss was unloading a lot of lovely fabrics, much of which were silk shantung that matches my furniture perfectly. It was as though I was being given a sign.
Not long after, I attended my first Bats Day at Disneyland. For those of you who do not know what Bats Day is, it’s sort of a gathering for all kinds of alternative types that the “normal” folks would call FREAKS. It was also the most comfortable and happy I’ve been at Disneyland in a long, long time. For once I was looking around and seeing people I understood and felt comfortable being around. More importantly, I was seeing them and their significant others and their families. That day, I finally began to realize that it didn’t matter what I looked like, how I dressed, what kind of furniture I had or art I chose. Anyone who truly loves me would either like the same things, or at least love me enough to live with it. When I finally disconnected from the hyper-judgemental, never accepting people in my life, it was the clearest that concept had ever been. Suddenly, I felt free to do whatever felt right, be whomever I choose, and live as I wish to live. Moreover, I finally let it sink in that to prohibit myself from doing something fun or fulfilling or creating an atmosphere where I feel comfortable and relaxed in order to appease the tastes of someone for the sake of their acceptance is just stupid and silly.
I have many regrets that I have let go of, some that come to me in dreams when I cannot stop them from haunting me, but more often than not I don’t allow them to run my life. But the single most burning regret I have, is that it took me this long to figure out how to live my life. To me, the best way to celebrate is with boldness, the richness, the power and sensuality that I believe is in me… and is represented by the color Red.
Once upon a time I was a blank canvas. I was gessoed up and ready for bright splashes of vibrant colors and sweeping textures of all kinds. Instead of deciding what I wanted on that canvas, I allowed other would-be artists to dictate the artwork known as Gina (Gina, being a name that I not only hated on myself but never felt connected to, and therefore allowed a dear friend to rename me when I was 23 and had undergone the first wave of positive change in my life… Sunny will be legal this year).
As the years went on, the people around me kept editing my canvas. Some contributors insisted that what they saw never changed no matter how many edits had been made. Some continued to add and subtract elements they didn’t like in hopes of forming the ideal masterpiece. Others would stand back, in awe, and watch the constantly evolving work; sometimes feeling fearful of what it was becoming and occasionally envying the fact that it wasn’t tied to staying forever the same. For a while, I didn’t mind it so much because I didn’t believe I really knew who I was anyway. It was so much easier to let others create me because it was their acceptance, their approval I desired most and I believed that if I let them mold me into what they wanted I would have what I desired. I was wrong. I was very, very wrong.
The same thing applied to my home (an extension of myself). I was afraid to pick out furniture, paint the walls, decorate in any strong fashion because I didn’t want to alienate a man who might want to have a relationship with me. Having grown up with people who believed largely as I did, or had suggested that I believe as they do out of some misguided idea of helping me find a mate, it had never occurred to me to really sit down and question that perception. Even when my ex-intended moved in with me, I was ready to let him lay a heavy hand on the decisions of how our home would look (which was asinine considering the most decorative item he owned was a figurine of Marilyn Monroe that he salvaged from a man's house who had committed suicide). All the while, somewhere underneath, I was thinking things like, “I want an Enchanted Tiki Room dining area!” or “I have always wanted a brothel / bordello bedroom” knowing full well that he would never agree to it. After I asked him to leave, I lost all interest in romance or decorating for a couple of tumultuous, busy, gut twisting years. Then a series of events took place that changed everything. And I mean… EVERYTHING.
During the gut twisting years, I met a man who once worked in special effects for film who had decorated his home in a way much like a Disney Imagineer would have. So much so, that many of the pieces were ones he had recreated in his garage workshop and he shared this home with his love (at the time). When I was getting a particularly healthy refund from the IRS, he took me to where he had gotten a good deal on his furniture (which was unique and yet still comfortable and homely). After sifting through no less than fifteen fabric books, I came upon a fabric that had a Moroccan look. My idea had been that I wanted a “Midnight at the Oasis” living room and it fit what was in my head perfectly. The main color is a deep, rich, dark red. When the furniture arrived, I remember my heart racing like crazy. I was so excited I couldn't sleep for days. I'd had no idea how good making that decision would feel.
At the same time, my then boss was unloading a lot of lovely fabrics, much of which were silk shantung that matches my furniture perfectly. It was as though I was being given a sign.
Not long after, I attended my first Bats Day at Disneyland. For those of you who do not know what Bats Day is, it’s sort of a gathering for all kinds of alternative types that the “normal” folks would call FREAKS. It was also the most comfortable and happy I’ve been at Disneyland in a long, long time. For once I was looking around and seeing people I understood and felt comfortable being around. More importantly, I was seeing them and their significant others and their families. That day, I finally began to realize that it didn’t matter what I looked like, how I dressed, what kind of furniture I had or art I chose. Anyone who truly loves me would either like the same things, or at least love me enough to live with it. When I finally disconnected from the hyper-judgemental, never accepting people in my life, it was the clearest that concept had ever been. Suddenly, I felt free to do whatever felt right, be whomever I choose, and live as I wish to live. Moreover, I finally let it sink in that to prohibit myself from doing something fun or fulfilling or creating an atmosphere where I feel comfortable and relaxed in order to appease the tastes of someone for the sake of their acceptance is just stupid and silly.
I have many regrets that I have let go of, some that come to me in dreams when I cannot stop them from haunting me, but more often than not I don’t allow them to run my life. But the single most burning regret I have, is that it took me this long to figure out how to live my life. To me, the best way to celebrate is with boldness, the richness, the power and sensuality that I believe is in me… and is represented by the color Red.
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